// nightmare //

I am marching
into chaos but the waves
to me
are blind.
So it will be this in plain sight
this
threat quiet like a
knife,
this kind of sickening of the flesh
shrieking inside the skull;
an insidious growth on the
underside of the
truth.
Every word is tasteless,
is fractured, is bruised.
We are not rich anymore.
This rage with no where to go –
its claws sunk deep in the ribs
of the world crashing
in upon itself and we
are letting it bleed from our hands
and our eyes
and our mouths
and our gums.
What happened
HERE.
What nightmares had we been
weaving in our
terrible
sleep.

.

.

.

.